


Echoes

by Niko_Niko_Neek



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niko_Niko_Neek/pseuds/Niko_Niko_Neek
Summary: Nightsisters and Jedi do not travel together, and neither do they fall in love. But survivors-survivors are a different case entirely.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Merrin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 203





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please send help I have fallen for them and cannot get up

No sooner had Merrin pressed the necklace into his hand than she was gone, leaving so fast to a separate part of the Mantis that for a second he wondered if she had even been there to start with. Cal blinked, staring in the direction she had gone-the gift itself had been totally unexpected, but her rush to leave the room after it had been handed over made him all the more curious.

His brow knitted in puzzlement as he finally looked down to regard the object.

The first thing which ame to mind was that it looked like a more subtle version of the necklaces he had seen the Nightbrothers wear, back on Dathomir. Those had been thick ropes with fangs from animals and horns from other Nightbrothers they had bested in battle. This one wasn’t covered in those-there was one long tooth, maybe taken from a ravenous animal of some kind, hanging in the center next to a shard of black obsidian. There were smaller glass beads along the cord, lining the main pendants evenly on both sides.

When had she gotten the time to make this? It must have been while they were travelling, or maybe at night. Merrin didn’t seem to need sleep as much as he and Cere did, which would’ve creeped him out had it been anyone else. 

A small, appreciative smile comes to his face. It’s a thoughtful gift, and probably has some kind of meaning in her culture that he might not fully understand. Carefully, he lifts his flesh hand to run over the fang.

The echo, this time, is fresh enough that he doesn’t need to concentrate in order to sense it.

Instantly, Cal is transported. He feels the time Merrin has spent on this necklace, rejecting various ideas along the way. This had been a labor of dedication. It was important to her that it be perfect.

But there are other things, too.

Because she had thought about him while making this. The attention to detail mirrored the attention she gave him, dozens of times while he’d been distracted or unaware. Cal, for a moment, sees himself through Merrin’s eyes, head bowed slightly in a meditative posture, and feels Merrin’s urge to kneel beside him, take him into her arms and protect him from the rest of the Galaxy-

He jolts out of the echo, face almost as red as his hair. He flinches his flesh hand away from the necklace, regarding it now with an entirely deeper understanding of its meaning.

She loved him.

How or why, he really couldn’t say. Perhaps she didn’t even want him to know it yet. But it was obvious, a silent message in the force, like a letter only he was able to read plainly. Cal swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. 

“It is to your liking?”

The carefully weighted question makes Cal lift his head quickly in surprise, still half returning to reality. It’s different, the way he looks at Merrin now as she stands just across the room, a shoulder leaning against the steel wall of the ship. Her posture is the same as usual-defensive, aloof expression. But she’s shy. He can tell.

“.....Yeah.” Carefully, Cal tugs the cord over his head, placing the fang just over his chest. THe obsidian is arranged in such a way that it rests just above his heart. “Yeah, it….Does it mean something specific, or…?”

It’s a faltering question, his clumsy attempt to acknowledge the feelings he had sensed, but the inquiry isn’t taken in such a way. Merrin comes to sit beside him, leaving space, space that now seems like far too much. “It is a tradition. On Dathomir, we give this to a warrior once he comes of age. It is for protection.”

Of age. Dimly, Cal is reminded that he is technically a Knight now, though the ceremony was short and far from traditional. His bare hand reaches up to rest at the obsidian. Again, he feels that warmth buzzing from the stone.

“It’s nice. I really like it. I’ll….” His mouth is dry again. He wished she could just understand what he meant without him having to say it, “I’ll wear it all the time.”

A small smile tugs at the left side of Merrin’s mouth. “You will have to, or it will not work.”

On impulse, Call reaches across and settles his gloves hand over the top of Merrin’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you. Really.”

Her eyes, velvet black, shift from his to the floor, perhaps to hide the fact that the smile is growing on her face. “You are welcome, Cal.”


	2. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stars are always brighter on Kashyyk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the commenters said, "We want more Merrical!!" And then there was more Merrical.

You had never really seen the stars until you had seen them on Kashyyk.

Having spend the majority of his years trapped on Brocca, an industrialized planet where the nighttime lights blared from every angle and smeared into the atmosphere, it had been a long time since Cal had seen a clear night like this. The usual noise of humming speeders and the dull roar of passing freights were totally absent here, replaced by the melodic trilling of insects and the occasional cry of some distant animal.

It was probably a bad idea to spend time on a planet like Kashyyk after dark. Who knew what kind of predators were stalking around at this moment, and finding his way back to the ship in the dark was not going to be an easy task. But, he sensed nothing nefarious hiding in the dark and, more importantly, for the first time since the Fortress-maybe the first time since the Clone Ship-Cal felt his shoulders relax. 

“There are so many of them.”

Merrin’s voice, still succinct and to the point, has taken on a softer note. She’s lying to his left, and a sidelong glance reveals her staring upward at the sky, transfixed.

“Yep.” Cal tears his eyes back upward. 

“And each have their own system of planets, yes?”

“Not all of them. A few are just up there by themselves. Well, not entirely by themselves-binary system and all that.”

At this, Merrin turns her head towards him, arching one grey eyebrow. “Binary system?”

“Yeah, it’s the way stars work. Here.” With a small grunt, Cal props himself up on one elbow in order to indicate upward with his gloved hand. “So, in a binary system, there are two stars in each one. They’re not really close to each other, but they follow the same orbital path.” He moved his hand outward in the vague estimation of a circle. “Like a dance or something, kinda.”

“Dancing stars.” Beside him, Merrin chuckles. “I do not think the Nightbrothers would take you very seriously, Cal Kestis.”

“Be nice. It’s philosophical, in a way.” He flops back down, the back of his head hitting the grass once again. “Means nobody’s really alone.”

She’s quiet after that, presumably thinking. Cal can’t help but draw the parallel back to them, particularly in the silence. Though the clusters of stars looked to be right next to each other to the naked eye, they were truly light years apart, the black space between them stretching for eons. That kind of distance, from star to star, planet to planet, was enough to make anyone feel isolated.

Subconsciously, he reaches up to fidget with the necklace Merrin gave him. Many months ago, he had been on the flat, concrete rooftop of his apartment building in Brocca, squinting upward, wondering if he would ever be anywhere else. The thought comes to mind that perhaps, in that same moment, Merrin had been peering upward too, at the scarlet sky in Dathomir, the last of her lineage.

Alone but not alone. Survivors.

“What is this one?”

Her voice draws him back to the present, and Cal looks over to see Merrin pointing upward. He moves a little closer in order to see where, exactly, she is indicating, and his brows raise in recognition.

“Oh, those are the Three Brothers. You used to be able to see them from Couruscant.”

“Couruscant?”

“Different planet.” Cal is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “I used to live there, a long time ago.”

He can’t tell whether her eyes on him makes him uncomfortable or not. “What was it like, this planet?”

“Busy.” A small, crooked smile crosses his face. “It was a capitol city in the Republic. All the big senate debates were there.”

“Debates?”

“Huge arguments about how to run things.”

This really does make Merrin laugh. “Our way was much simpler. Words settle very little on Dathomir. To be a leader, a person must prove it.”

The mental image of Merrin watching a senatorial debate threatens to crack Cal up. “That does sound easier,” he admits with a grin. “I remember they were pretty boring. But I was also nine or ten, so lots of things were boring.”

“I cannot imagine you at nine or ten.”

His grin fades, just slightly. She’s right-from the scars littering his face and body to the perpetual frown of concentration that tends to be on his face, he doubts that anyone from back then would be able to recognize him at all.

“....A lot changed.”

A moment passes before the cool feeling of Merrin’s knuckles brushing against the back of his hand sends a jolt through him. 

“I know this,” Merrin replies.

It takes him a second to realize he was holding his breath, and he forces himself to release it. “Did you have different names for the stars on Dathomir?”

“We did. For us, the ones we were able to see formed stories.” Merrin points upward at a particular cluster, towards the east. “That is Allya.”

“Allya?”

“Our first teacher. One of your Jedi, actually.”

Cal’s eyes narrow as he searches the long-ago history lectures from the recesses in his memory. “Allya...She was banished, wasn’t she?”

Beside him, Merrin nods. “To Dathomir.”

Made sense. Merrin continues, indicating another small cluster beside the first. “Beside her is Talzin, our Mother.”

Cal folds his arms over his chest. “Her, I do know.”

He can feel Merrin’s eyes on him again, studying him. “You disapprove.”

“She killed people.”

“For her son. You would not do the same for someone you loved?”

That last question startles him, and he glances at her for a minute. It’s hard her hold her gaze. “We were taught that responsibility comes before personal feelings.”

“That does not make sense to me. It is one and the same for us. We are responsible for people because we are close to them.”

It makes sense for Merrin’s culture to be driven by feelings, to an extent. After all, their magick was a derivative of the Dark Side. But it is a different process to use the Force as he knows it. It requires clarity and concentration-both things difficult to achieve for him now.

Ever since he’d held the necklace, meditation had been almost impossible. Every time Cal attempted to empty his thoughts and concentrate, thoughts about Merrin came flooding in-where she might be, whether she might be thinking of him. More than that, a wondering about how a person like her might feel that way about someone like him. 

It was far more difficult when she was right beside him.

“We would consider that a distraction. Sort of.”

She sighs. “The more I hear of your Jedi Order, the less I understand.”

“I understand you.”

The sentence spills from his head before it even registers he is saying it aloud. Maybe he’s the only one here who understands the weight of that sentence, the meaning it carries behind it. Now, he is all too aware of her eyes on him, and forces himself to meet them. Again, he finds himself perplexed at just how dark they are, how seemingly endless-but it isn’t frightening. It’s soft, a refuge from the harsh lights of the cities and ships.

Her expression is unreadable. When she speaks, her voice is so soft that he strains to hear it despite lying just a few inches beside her.

“I believe we understand each other, Cal Kestis.”

The urge to kiss her comes completely out of nowhere, but it’s stronger than any quick reflex he’s obtained through the Force. But the restraint and discipline Master Tapal has taught him are strong as well. Instead, Cal carefully reaches his hand outward, carefully tracing one of the black tattoos which stripe down across her cheek. Maybe it’s nervousness that forces him to try to fill the silence again.

“You, uh, never told me how you got these.”

His comment seems to catch her off guard, as does his action. She doesn’t withdraw from him, though. “....They are given to us. After we retrieve the Water of Life.”

Cal blinks. “....I don’t know what that means.”

Merrin smiles, a warm amused smile that threatens to stop his heart, as does the hand which reaches up to take his wrist. “You do not need to.”

She, of course, is the one who ends up finally moving forward. The gesture itself is simple, almost carrying a feeling of insecurity. He can feel the nervousness permeating behind her composed demeanor through the first and shifts his hand to the back of her neck in an attempt at reassurance. Dimly, Cal realizes that this is the first time he has ever kissed anyone.

He never really spend much time imagining what it would be like. On Brocca, he was too exhausted to do much else besides function, and every day since then has been packed full with ten other things to worry about. Overall, though, it’s something that makes sense. Something like coming home.

A sharp jolt of discomfort ends the moment when her nose presses awkwardly against his, and Cal draws away with a shy, unsteady laugh. “Sorry.”

“The fault was mine.” Even in the darkness, Merrin’s unnaturally pale face seems flushed. “Perhaps I should have asked your permission first.”

“You didn’t need to.” The tips of her fingers begin tracing the raised pink scars on his face-the one across his cheek bone, the small one across his nose and on his lip. For a moment, Cal shuts his eyes.

“We should head back. It would not be good to spend all night in this place.”

Cal can’t think of anything bad about it at the moment, but forces himself up anyway. The walk back to the ship won’t be very long, but it will be dark. A beam of blue light illuminated the area in front of them as Cal ignites his lightsaber, mainly for the purposes of seeing-though who knew what other nighttime creatures might be around.

He feels like they should talk on the way back, but can’t think of very much to say. Merrin’s hand finds his again, in the dark. He’s debating wondering whether or not to ask her what exactly all that meant when she speaks.

“I lied to you.”

His chest begins to feel weighted and heavy. “About…?”

“The necklace. It is not a coming of age gift.”

Genuine confusion makes him stare over at her, expression questioning. Her gaze is riveted forward.

“.....It is a token of courtship,” Merrin explains, all in one breath and almost too fast to understand. It takes a moment before it dawns on him.

A broad grin grows slowly over his face. “You were _courting_ me, Merrin?”

She keeps looking forward as they walk, her expression a flustered scowl. “You do not need to say it like that.”

Cal chuckles. “You were _courting_ me.”

“You will stop this or I will take it back.”

That does shut him up, but the grin is on his face long after they board the Mantis.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cal is very nervous, very in love, and very drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nooo guys ;) Stop asking me to write more ;) Omg for real stooop ;)

For some reason, Cal had believed that after their kiss on Kashyyk, everything else would fall into place. He was accustomed to waiting for things to sort out by themselves-it was why he had been so skilled at scrapwork. When a component was fried or broken, all he would need to do was wait, adjust accordingly, and either the Force or his own instinct would guide him from there.

Cal is good at fixing things. He is good at tracking things, uncovering history lost to any kind of record. He is good at keeping his head down and (mostly), he is good at keeping out of trouble.

He is not good with women. This is something he is learning very fast.

He thought he would be more at ease around Merrin after their conversation, but if anything, it is exactly the opposite. He doesn’t know how to stand when she’s next to him, or what to do with his hands. He doesn’t know what to say to her now that they have kissed-twice, actually, if you counted the brief one she gave him upon their return to the Mantis. When she’s not near him, he wishes she was; when she is, he doesn’t know how to think or act.

Their kiss, which had been such a complete and perfect thing, has thrown him headfirst into conflict, and not the sort he could cut his way through.

“Where are we headed to next, exactly?”

Greeze’s gravelly voice from up ahead jars Cal out of his ruminations, and he forces himself back to the present once again. “Dantooine, I assumed. Unless there’s been a change of plan?”

“There is always a change of plan,” he hears Merrin mutter under her breath. True to her prediction, Cere speaks next.

“The compressor just fried out. We’re going to have to land in order to try and barter to get it fixed. I thought I told you that already?”

From atop his shoulder. BD-1 beeps an affirmative, while Cal just blinks in confusion, rising to his feet in order to enter the cockpit. That whole conversation must have flown right over his head while he was sitting and ruminating.

“Uh...Okay, bartering.” Bartering with two former Jedi, a gambling addict, and a Nightsister. That was going to be interesting. “Bartering where?”

“That small planet, just there,” Cere points forward, towards a snow-speckled planer not far in the distance. “It registers as Tatooine on the ship’s computers.”

Cal’s eyes widen. “Tatooine-no, no way. We’ll be robbed blind before we even make it off the ship.”

“You, perhaps.” Merrin’s voice carries a sense of self-assurance that he envies somewhat as she follows behind him. “But I am able to deal with common thieves.”

“They’re uh-they’re not common, Merrin,” Cal runs a hand nervously through his hair. “These guys are tough. The only other place that ranks up with it is Kijimi, from what I hear.”

“You hid from the Empire for years, Cal,” Cere says assuredly, guiding the Mantis forward to make landing preparations. “I think you’ll be able to pick up a compressor without too much disaster. Particularly if Merrin goes with you.”

Trying to lay low with one of the Nightsisters coming along seems counterproductive, but nonetheless Cal can admit it would be better to have her with him should conflict occur.

There’s sand everywhere when they land. It stretches further than the eye can see, a vast ocean of ground glass. Despite his dislike for the heat, Cal can’t help but stare through the transparasteel at the front of the cockpit as, with a creaking groan and a shudder of effort, the Mantis comes to rest on the surface of Tatooine.

A worried beep comes from BD-1, and Cal reaches up to pat the droid’s head. “Yeah, buddy, that didn’t sound too good to me, either.”

He removes his poncho before disembarking. Ordinarily he would’ve kept it on, but the heat is already oppressive, and it’s sunset. He knows it’ll get cold soon, but he was hoping to be back before night fell, or at least not too long after.

Merrin regards the sand with an almost prying interest, as though it is some unseen enemy. One of her boots makes contact with the ground and begins to sink, causing her expression to shift to alarm. “This is not on Dathomir.”

Despite himself, Cal has to stifle a grin of amusement. She’s probably embarrassed. “Nope. Not on Brocca either.”

Merrin takes a few more awkward steps before deciding it is not worth the effort. With a restrained sigh, a flicker of green energy sparks at the soles of her boots, creating something of a platform just above the sand. In no time, she is walking as smoothly as though he’d just imagined her trouble.

“...You mind lending me some of that?”

She glances at him over one shoulder, and he might have imagined the humor (or even flirtation) in her voice when she responds.  
“A Jedi Knight surely can handle sand, no?”

Bemeaused, Cal shakes his head. He has to jog a couple paces to catch up with her.

It isn’t much time before the first signs of civilization begin to appear-a few landspeeders streaking past them, the occasional shuffle of a stray Jawa or two. Nervously, Cal tucks his lightsaber into his belt and conceals most of it beneath the hem of his shirt.

“So this place is...Kinda rough, from what I heard. But I used to deal with some people like that on Brocca. I would say, just let me do the talking.”

There is a faint sound as Merrin’s magick abates, and she continues walking on the worn path into the settlement. “You are not so good at talking.”

“I’m decent. Sometimes.”

“Are we not simply going to one of the machine stores?”

Cal shakes his head. “No, they’d rip us off as soon as they found out we were desperate.” Already, he feels eyes on the pair of them. No troopers here, but other types-no telling who. Gangsters, bounty-hunters, and who knew what else. “We’re better suited going for a drink first.”

Merrin looks at him at disbelief. “You are joking.”

“Nope. Best way to find things, here.”

The Cantina is, thankfully, quiet when they enter. It’s good because there are no barfights happening yet, but bad because virtually everyone in the room turns to look at them when they enter. Cal swallows nervously.

“Just act like we belong here,” he mutters to Merrin as they take a seat at the counter.

“You are more nervous than I am, Cal Kestis.”

She’s right, though he wishes she wasn’t. The service droid behind the counter swivels around to face them, expectant.

“...Something strong, please.”

Beside him, Merrin gives a curt nod. “Likewise.”

Within a few moments, there are two shot glasses filled with some glowing blue liquid Cal can’t identify in front of them. He drains his, and cringes at the taste.

Merrin swallows her shot in a fluid, almost practiced motion, then regards the empty glass with a quizzical expression. “You said this was strong?”

“You don’t think so?”

She shrugs. “Perhaps only strong for you.”

He’s about to roll his eyes and defend himself when a hissing voice interrupts them.

“That’s a nice droid you have, there.”

A green-skinned twi’lek leans his forearm on the counter beside Cal. The glinting, almost hungry expression in his eyes makes Cal more than a little uncomfortable.

“He isn’t for sale.”

“Everything’s got a price, my friend. Are you sure we can’t settle on one? I have a couple things here that might pique your interest-”

“He said no. Perhaps you need this explained to you?” The stool scrapes across the ground as Merrin rises to her feet, already seeming indignant. Noticing her presence, though, the twi’lek seems delighted, and turns to Cal with a low, consperitorial voice.

“How about your pretty friend? She has a price, I’m sure.”

In a flash, Cal’s hand darts to his saber, but by the time the metal hilt meets his palm, it’s already too late. A flash of green energy slashes across the twi’lek’s face, leaving an angry, blistering burn. He howls, clutching the newfound injury, a newfound fury twisting his expression. Cal senses the retaliation coming, but again, Merrin moves too fast.

It’s the same thing she did on Dathomir-one minute she is standing beside him, the next, she is behind the twi’lek. There is a sickening crunch, and then the offender is curled on the ground, clutching at his right arm, now bent at an extreme angle.

“Do not ask me to explain it to you again.”

Cal, as a Jedi, knows he should be repulsed by the meaningless violence-even with their aim in mind, this is far from a good way to start. But at the moment, he feels nothing but a deep admiration and appreciation for Merrin herself. She rakes her gaze across at the spectators-the bar has fallen momentarily silent after the commotion.

“....Never mind,”Cal says, forcing a smile. “Just an argument. Go back to your drinks.”

There are enough cases of loan sharks and hitmen in the area that it doesn’t take long for them to do so. Cal wastes no time ordering another drink for himself. With the way the evening is already going, he will need it. “Have I mentioned,” he says as Merring returns to her seat, “How glad I am you’re here?”

She smiles at him over the rim of her glass. “Perhaps you could mention it more.”

“I’m happy you’re here.”

“That is enough, Cal.”

It doesn’t escape his notice that she has drained her glass again, and he stares rather openly. “....Does that do anything to you? At all?”

Merrin looks down at the empty glass and shrugs. “Nothing so far. Why? You are drunk already?”

“No, of course not.”

In about ten minutes, though, he certainly is.

In Cal’s own defense, he’d made it something of a personal mission to keep up with Merrin’s drinks, even if that meant throwing most of his change onto the counter. Before her knew it, there were four empty shotglasses on the counter, Merrin still appeared unphased, and his face was beginning to feel very, very warm.

“....Can we go outside? I’d like to go outside.” Cal announces suddenly, one cheek propped on his gloved hand. “There are two moons here, you know.”

Merrin blinks. “Two. I did not know this.”

“Two. Two of them.”

“You are drunk, Cal Kestis.”

“I…” He lifts his hand and begins to think of an argument, but it soon slips his mind. “I am having a good time. But I would like to go outside.”

Standing seems like a good idea, but as soon as he gets up, he regrets it. The room around him is spinning, and it’s only when Merrin takes his arm and begins walking with him in tow that he seems to find his footing.

“Thank you, Merrin.”

“You are welcome, Cal.”

Even though the fabric of his shirt, her hands feel mercifully cold, as does the night air outside. The scent of spices being cooked, probably in the houses nearby, is rivaled only by the minty scent of the air. He can feel Merrin giving him a short pat on the back. The binary moons overhead illuminate her features, throwing her facial markings and eyes into sharp relief. Her hair, normally a shaded grey, appears almost silver.

“You look beautiful,” He comments.

She chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have had four shots of the strongest liquor on Tatooine. I am sure I do.”

On impulse, he reaches out and takes her hand. “You are, Merrin. It’s...It’s a demeanor thing.”

“A what?”

“Just….I don’t know. The way you carry yourself. The way you talk. It’s all beautiful, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

He can see her face flushing. “Let’s just get back to the ship, Cal. You will need to drink water. You are not used to the heat here, and it is part of the problem.”

“You’re very smart, Merrin. I didn’t even think about that.”

She squeezes his hand, gently. “I know this.”

Walking in the sand while drunk proves to take up the majority of his concentration. Merrin’s hand is great for balance, but his intoxication isn’t helping much. The cold temperature has sobered him up just a little-enough to start feeling embarrassed at least-but his coordination is still shot. 

The struggling doesn’t go on for very long, though-in a flash, it is as though he is walking on a flat surface. A glance downward reveals Merrin has come to his rescue yet again with the energy she is able to harness. 

It’s only when the Mantis comes back into view that Cal’s stomach plummets.

“The compressor. Shit. Merrin, we forgot the compressor.”

“You forgot. I did not forget.”

“Then how come-?”

A sly grin emerges on Merrin’s face as she pats one of the small pouches on her belt. “I did not think the Jedi approved of stealing, but the Nightsisters do what is necessary.”

It takes him a few seconds longer than usual to get it, but a disbelieving laugh leaves him when he realizes. “You stole one?”

“One of the shops nearby. You were nervous about the people there and did not realize I was gone.”

Cal reaches out, grasping her shoulders, and gives her probably one of the clumsiest kisses in history. He almost falls over in the process-Merrin actually has to hold his elbows to ensure he doesn’t. His forehead remains pressed against hers even after the kiss ends.

A soft laugh leaves Merrin. “You are still drunk, Cal.”

“Just a little.”

Still, neither of them makes a motion to draw away. Merrin’s eyes are shut, her expression caught in a rare moment of peace. The gentleness of the moment is what draws him to apologize.

“I’ve been avoiding you, Merrin. I’m sorry”

This causes her to open her eyes, drawing back just enough to get a look at him. “I haven’t been meaning to,” Cal continues. “It’s just...I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

He manages a shy smile. “Any of this.”

Merrin hums in understanding, reaching up to trace her fingers along the necklace she’d given him. “I have not spoken to anyone aside from Malicos since I was a child. I am not very good at this, either. In fact, I am a little afraid.”

Cal catches her hand in his, draws it to his mouth. “Afraid.”

She nods. “I have lost everyone I have loved. And when I saw you in the water, I…” Her gaze drops. “....Assumed it had happened again. The way it always seemed to.”

Again, Cal finds himself stunned as to how so many years of pain could be held inside of a single person. He can feel emotion tightening in his throat. He doesn’t even want to go back on the Mantis, he just wants to stay here with her and never let her go.

“I’m sorry, Merrin. I didn’t know.”

“How could you? I never told you.”

“Well…” His gazes flickers down to his necklace. “You sort of did.”

He answers her wordless look of question with a bashful grin. “Psychometry.”

It doesn’t take long for Merrin to understand. Her eyes widen, mouth dropping open as though she is about to speak, but no words emerge. His grin broadens, and he leans in to kiss her again, only to have the flat of her hand strike firmly on his chest.

“...Beg pardon?”

“The amount of time you could have avoided me wasting, Cal Kestis,” Merrin chides him with a frustrated exhale. “Instead of just pretending-”

“I was trying to be considerate-”

Merrin runs a hand back through her hair, still shaking her head in abject disbelief. “You are like all Jedi. Infuriating.”

“I love you.”

It’s obvious that her expression has softened, but she continues glaring.

“Very much, Merrin.”

“Just-” She raises one hand, still refusing to meet his eyes. As the seconds tick past, Cal watches as her face does from white, to light pink, and then almost red. “Just go to the ship, Cal Kestis. Before I decide to be angry with you.”

Still fueled by the remains of alcohol in his system, Cal steps close beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Don’t be angry with me, Merrin.”

She’s still glaring, but doesn’t pull away. “You will be the death of me.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“No. You are not stupid enough to try.”

He presses his lips to her hairline. She smells almost like lilacs.

“Stop this before Cere is forced to tear you off of me.”

“She can try.”

To her credit, Cere does not. In fact, the elder Jedi only has to take one look at Cal, still swaying a little on his feet, before she decides not to ask questions. Of course, this doesn’t stop Greeze from making a comment or two, but he only manages to get halfway through one before a murderous look from Merrin stops him entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cal's connection with the Force is severed, then repaired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gets a tad steamy towards the end, but nothing explicit.

Thankfully, they don’t wind up in a dive like Tattooine again. Since leaving Brocca, Cal had always preferred nature to cityscapes. They were too densely populated for him. There was too much mingling of stories and lives, too many potential tragedies waiting to be unleashed as soon as Cal lay a hand on a stray object, even casually. Even accidentally. Of course, they would need to stop to refuel and replenish supplies every so often, but Cal had grown accustomed to the cold silence of space. It made meditation easier.

The thought that something is wrong registers as soon as Cal sits on his knees in the back of the ship, his chin bowed towards his chest. He always begins this way, centering himself though his breath, and reaching out to passively sense the presence of his crewmates. Over the many months of travel, Cal has found it easy to identify each one by force-signature alone.

There is Cere, bright and steady like a navigation star. Greeze, usually nearby her, his presence muted just from a lack of training, but still perceptible. Merrin is a little different, an eye in the storm, the energy at her command palpable even through just passive sensation.

Tonight, though, there is nothing.

Frowning, Cal strains his mind. He knows, logically, that everyone is aboard. He just walked past Greeze, asleep on his prized couch, in order to even reach his quarters. But there is no one, not even Merrin, who is typically the easiest presence for him to detect.

His stomach falls. It’s terrifyingly like they are dead.

But it’s not just their presence. Where before Cal would be able to align himself with the physical presence of the ship-the dinner table, where they’d all shared countless meals. The terrarium, where he enjoyed watching Greeze work. Cere’s guitar, producing high pitched and almost eerie sounding notes. Instead, there is a crushing and insurmountable void.

He is falling into nothingness. And through it all, on the edge, playing on Cal’s own deepest fears, is the faint sound of mechanically enforced breathing.

_Vader._

Cal flies backward out of his posture, landing hard on his left elbow. His breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps. Perhaps already sensing his panic, he hears the telltale fall of Cere’s boots comes down the hall at a near-jog.

“Cal?!”

She comes to a halt in the mechanical doorway, her voice bearing all the concern of a worried Master. Pale, Cal still doesn’t rise to his feet. Instead, he stares at the palm of his left hand, bewildered and hopeless.

“....I can’t feel anything.”

Cere kneels beside him. “How?”

“I can’t-I can’t feel the Force. I can’t sense the Force anymore.”

His words leave in a steadily mounting panic as anxiety grips him. What does this mean? How, after all of their travels, after re-learning everything he has learned, is he back to where he first started? But even then, after the Purge, he could at least sense the Force even if he had no recollection of the techniques involved. This was entirely different. Where once had been the certainty of his union with all living things, there was now a gaping hole. An empty wound.

“Did….Is it…” Cal’s voice is muted to a stunned whisper. “Have I cut myself off somehow?”

He feels Cere’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing once. “No, Cal. It’s impossible to unintentionally cut yourself off from the living Force. I only managed to through a firm commitment and decision. This must be something else, some kind of….Aftereffect, from-”

“From the one called Darth Vader.”

Without the ability to sense her presence in the Force, Cal jumps at the sudden sound of Merrin’s voice. She’s quiet in general, but with no hint as to her location in space, she seems to appear out of nowhere.

Perhaps in apology, Merrin holds a hand out to him, motioning for him to stand. Though still shaken, Cal takes it and is pulled up to his feet. Even if he can’t reach out to her in the same manner, just her physical presence is enough to slow his heart rate.

“I have seen something like this before, on Dathomir,” Merring continues, addressing Cere. Her hand remains in his. “In myself. After my sisters were slaughtered, I was unable to draw upon my Magik in the way I once had. Because I was alone, it was many years before I was able to use it once again.”

Cere nods. “I remember something similar happening during the Clone Wars. Jedi weren’t accustomed to being in a military setting. I remember even some of the older Masters returning from missions...Shaken. Yoda typically assigned them for lengthy sessions with one of our Jedi Healers.”

Cal laughs, shakily. “Too bad we don’t have any of those on hand.”

“There is a different way.” Merrin gives him a sidelong glance. “But it may not be comfortable.”

Cal’s brow furrowed. “How so?”

Gently, Merrin’s hand withdraws from his, and she brushes her palm against the red fabric of her robes. “It can be considered somewhat….Intimate.”

The stern quirk of Cere’s brow isn’t a good combination with the sudden heat rising in Cal’s face, and Merrin is quick to explain further.

“Not in that way.” She snaps, drawing herself indignantly to her full height. “I say intimate because it will involve my presence in Cal Kestis’s mind.”

His flustered reaction turns gradually into something mirroring confusion.

“It is a technique that was shared only among Nightsisters, which is why I am...Unsure whether it will work. It is a method used to undo the damage done to the mind by outside influence. It was not often used on Dathomir. I can only recall using it once, after Ilyana was badly hurt by another Sister.”

The more Merrin describes the idea, the less comfortable Cal feels-not just because it would involve the possibility of Merrin stumbling across a few embarrassing thoughts here and there. It’s obvious from the tone of Merrin’s voice that this is something sacred and personal, something probably not meant for an outsider like him. “You don’t have to do that,” Cal says quickly. “I’m probably not worth all of that importance-”

Merrin locks eyes with him. “You think I would not do this for you, Cal?”

He is speechless. Something deep in his chest aches. Looking at her, his expression softens.

She _would._ The idea of it is almost overwhelming.

Cere’s voice snaps them both into the present. “So, this...Method,” she says carefully. “It’s a form of healing?”

“Yes.”

“...Through the Dark side?”

The implication is not lost on Merrin, and Cal watches as her expression hardens. “Dark an evil are different things, Cere. You, of all people, know this.”

For a moment, Cere looks as though she might argue, but she smiles apologetically after a moment. “...You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just...The last time a student of mine was exposed to something like that, it didn’t turn out especially well.”

Silence hangs heavy between the three of them for a moment, interrupted only by the quiet sound of Greeze snoring. Cal feels the strange loss of Trilla yet again, a friend who had never gotten to be a friend. Even months later, he finds himself mourning a person he never truly knew.

“It was done with the intention of breaking her. This is what you’ve said,” Merrin replies. “This technique is done with the intent to restore.”

At length, Cal speaks up. “I trust her, Cere.”

The older Jedi gives him a small nod. “We all do.” Her attention shifts to Merrin once again. “What do you need for this process?”

“Time, mainly. Privacy. It will be a vulnerable state, for both of us.”

“I can seal off the back part of the ship for a few hours. We can avoid landing and trouble for a while, at least. Greeze will understand.”

Knowing the short alien’s knowledge of the Force, Cal finds himself raising an eyebrow. Cere replies firmly to his expression. “I’ll make sure he does, anyway.”

They don’t begin right away. As Merrin had explained, this would be an involved process, and would probably be something of a drain on her energy if it worked similarly to the Force itself. She excuses herself soon after their conversation to focus, leaving Cal to wander about aimlessly.

Still on his permanent perch on Cal’s shoulder, BD-1 reads his nervousness as easily as binary code. A soft series of beeps emits from the droid.

“I’m okay, bud,” Cal replies with a forced smile, reaching up to pat the top of BD-1’s metal head. “This is all just...It’s a lot for me. And I’m still confused why it happened now, and not right after we left the Fortress.”

BD-1 gives a few whistles and beeps in response.

“Well….Yeah, I guess when wires or gears get strained it can take a while for them to finally break down.” As much as he is reluctant to admit it, it’s a pretty good analogy. Part of the reason he’d been so secure in his job on Brocca was because he could identify small faults in machinery, detect accidents before they occured. It’s similar enough to what has happened to him. He hadn’t been able to figure out how hurt he had been before he’d just….stopped working.

The cold press of metal against his jaw interrupts his train of thought. The little spurt of affection from his droid makes Cal laugh.   
“Thank you, BD.”

\---------------

It’s the soft sound of chanting which draws him toward the back of the ship. In all of their travels thus far, he has never actually seen Merrin meditate-if it would be called meditation. Truthfully, it seems more like practice. A flickering light of green energy illuminates the otherwise dark room. The few metal crates tells Cal this room was probably storage most of the time. Near the center of the room, Merrin sits cross legged, her eyes shut. Only her lips are moving, chanting the same mantra he recalls hearing on Dathomir. Watching the shadows play across her face and hair, it’s easy to forget that she had used those exact words to set her legion of undead sisters on him.

It takes her a moment to notice his presence. It’s as though she is extracting herself from a state of sleep-her eyes blink open and, gradually, the green energy within her palms twists and dissipates.

“Sorry,” Cal says with a bashful grin. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You are fine, Cal. It is time to begin, anyway.”

He flicks one of the overhead lights, providing a bit of illumination into the room. He’s somewhat hesitant about entering the room, but does so. The metal door hisses closed behind him.

“Sit,” Merrin says, gesturing to a spot on the floor in front of her. There’s a small mat on the ground that reminds him distantly of the training rooms in the Temple. The fabric is comfortable beneath his knees.

“First, I believe it is important that you understand what has happened. Has Cere discussed this with you?”

“A bit, but I think I get it. Vader screwed me up, more or less?”

“Something like that. It will take some work to get to the full extent of the problem. At times, a very intense situation will put a stunt on ones’ abilities. This is not to say that it is impossible to regain them, or even that you will need to relearn them. But like any physical wound, it will take time before it is repaired. You understand, Cal?”

He nods. Essentially, it’s just a more detailed version of what Cere had stated. He still feels somewhat defeated now, a weaker version of himself. “I’ve just never heard of this happening before. Not like this, anyway.”

“Why? Would you expect Cere to walk away unscathed? Would you believe me to be lesser, had I gone through the same thing?”

She’s got him cornered again. His response is somewhat reluctant. “...No. Not at all.”

“No. Because you are kind, Cal.” Merrin reaches out, settling a hand over his. “That is not a trait valued enough in these times.”

He isn’t sure he agrees, but knows better than to argue. “You...Said we should start?”

“Yes.” Merrin withdraws her hand, settling her palms back on her knees. “You will start by breathing. As you normally would when praying.”

“We don’t really call it praying…”

“Whatever the Jedi call it.”

Cal chuckles and, after a moment, does as he is bidden. 

Settling into a meditative state isn’t particularly easy with Merrin sitting inches in front of him. Even without the aid of the Force, her presence is impossible to ignore. It makes it a little difficult to let his guard down.

“Breathe, Cal.”

Her voice is quiet, a reminder cutting through the darkness. Slowly, his breaths begin to deepen. Instinctually he attempts to reach outward with his awareness and encounters the voice again. Cal sees himself standing on the edge of it, some great tear in space, looking down. The sheer emptiness makes him want to cry.

“Do not try to sense the Force now. Focus only on the things around you, physically.”

Cal does his best to shift his awareness to the mat beneath his knees. He can hear the faint, mechanical whirring of the ship’s machinery, still functioning away. Dimly, he can hear the sounds of Cere and Greeze conversing near the front of the ship. Immediately in front of him, Merrin’s breath matches his own. If he focuses hard enough, he can even hear the beat of her heart.

“I will ask you to take yourself back to the moment with Vader. You will feel me watching this encounter. This is the only thing I will be focusing on. And this….May be painful, Cal.”

He knows this before Merrin states it. Cal takes a steadying breath and, with a mounting sense of dread, allows himself to travel back to the moment.

Trilla’s face is the first thing, yellowed eyes widening in abject terror. At first, Cal remembers being confused as to why she was so afraid of him and Cere-hadn’t he just said it wasn’t too late for her, that he could help her? But then, his gaze drifts above her left shoulder, and he understands.

The presence of Darth Vader is as terrifying as the absence of the Force. It is a swirling void, absent of any human feeling or empathy. The clicking whirr of machinery is more audible than any presence of human life. The pain he feels when he looks at Vader is eternal and unending. The Sith Lord’s very presence is agony. Cal understands intuitively that each rasping, mechanical breath brings pain.

_You disappoint me, Inquisitor._

In a whirl of crimson, Trilla is gone.

Cal knows he has no chance. His only chance is to run and pray he makes it.

The next moments pass in a blur of abject hysteria. Frantically, Cal remembers the sheer terror that was only ever matched by the terror he felt when escaping the clones. And then his saber, wrenched from his grip, the blinding pain that followed and the certainty that this was it, that he would die-

A strained gasp jolts him to the present, and it only takes a second for him to realize there are tears on Merrin’s face.

He has never seen her cry. Not when she described losing Ilyana, at least not in front of him. Not when he and Cere both turned up on the ship looking far worse for wear. Not even when she had left Dathomir, the only place she knew.

She seems surprised by the moisture, and more so when Cal reaches out to smudge some of it away with his thumb. It seems to take a moment for her to return to the present. She reaches up to take his wrist, and her hand is trembling, faintly.

“....I understand, now,” she manages after several minutes.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” Cal says. “I feel like I’m hurting you.”

“You could never.” Strength returns to her voice. For a moment, she turns her face in order to press her lips to his palm. “But I see what has happened now. It is no wonder why this has happened.”

Gently, she guides his hand away from her face to rest back on top of his knee. However, she keeps it in both of hers. “That was the worst of it,” she says with a degree of confidence he trusts. “The rest will only require that you trust me.”

It seems so easy after going through the previous process that Cal almost laughs. “Well now, that’s just taking it too far.”

Merrin squints at him and shakes her head. “No time for jokes, Kestis.”

He smiles a little before his gaze drifts back down to their joined hands. “So what, I just...Let you get in my head now?”

“That is a crude way of saying it, but yes.”

The prospect is entirely foreign. The only time Cal has had a forigen presence in his head was back when Trilla was taunting him. “Alright, and...How exactly does that work?”

Merrin shifts a bit, reaching up to frame his face in his hands. “Hold still. And close your eyes, as well.”

Cal does as instructed. For a moment, he wonders whether Merrin will kiss him. And, strangely, a kiss is the only sensation he can compare it to when she enters his mind.

When a Sith invades the thoughts of a Jedi, it is one of the worst forms of violation. As master Tapal had taught him, it is a barbaric attempt to obtain information by whatever means necessary. At worst, it is used to break a Jedi’s will, to inflict torture for the purposes of corruption.

This is the polar opposite.

Physically, he feels the gentle pressure of Merrin’s forehead against his, but mentally...It really is like a kiss. Her presence is soothing, compassionate. He feels the edge of loneliness that remains forever in the background of her personage. He feels her sense of assurance, a trait she learned from Malicos, the fiery determination that no one will ever take advantage of her knowledge again. 

She is keeping her intrusion brief, focusing entirely on the goal, but he does feel her skim over a few stray childhood memories unintentionally-skinning his knee outside while playing, being picked up by Master Tapal and the safety that accompanied the gesture. Constructing his first lightsaber.

When she arrives at his pain, there is a sudden swell of anger. Merrin is furious, and he feels her rage. Intrusive images enter his mind’s eye of Vader’s limbs twisting, green ichor ripping his helmet-clad head from his neck, Merrin punishing the Sith ten thousand times over for his actions against Cal.

“I am sorry,” he both hears and feels her murmur to him. “It is still fresh for me.”

He greets her apology with understanding. There is an inherent selfishness to love, a nonsensical demand that the world treat the other person with the same compassion as you would. Slowly, her fury abates.

The mending itself is gradual. The joining of minds is dizzying. Cal can’t tell if Merrin’s hand has moved to the scar on his chest or if it is just a mental sensation translating across. Her scent, wild night air and sharp desert spice, surrounds him. He feels himself lean forward with a heavy, contented sigh. This is an act of love, no different than the necklace she had given him or the verbal words he had told her in the desert.

They stand, together, at the edge of the void. Slowly, then all at once, the void shifts, then materializes below him. The first presence is Merrin’s glowing brightly. Then Cere. Then Greeze. Then everything else-a faint presence of life-forms on a mood far to the North. A current of energy spanning from Cal to Merrin, to Cere, to the buzzing of electricity in the Mantis itself, to the plants in Greeze’s terrarium as they breathe and grow.

Merrin leaves gradually, like the gentle slowing of spring rain, a caress across the cheek. It is not her that makes him whole, but it is her that grounds him, anchoring him to the surface of the present. His cheeks feel dampened, though not from grief.

Instinctively, Cal closes the gap between them. Her fingers thread through his hair as the flat of his palm presses against the small of her back. Perhaps it’s the echoes of her presence still remaining in his consciousness, but it feels like she’s everywhere. Her mouth moves against his, insistent, her weight shifting onto his lap. A breathy groan escaped from him without his notice.

As if the sound itself changes her, Merrins hands grow firm on his shoulders, tipping him backwards onto the ground. Her teeth graze the skin of his jaw, his neck. Her presence was soothing before, but now it is consuming in a way Cal has no power or will to object to. He removes his glove, and the faint whirr of his prosthetic hand is audible as he buries it into her hair. 

Her kisses at his neck slow gradually, and she turns her gaze to the glinting metal above his wrist. “....I did not realize,” she breathes, her whisper ghosting against his ear.

“....It’s not all that important.” Cal isn’t very interested in continuing their conversation, trying to navigate his way back to Merrin’s lips. Merrin, however, seems hesitant.

“....Perhaps we shouldn’t.” she murmurs, stroking a few strands of hair back from his face. “The healing was already intense, and it might be too much-”

“It’s already too much,” Cal mumbles, sneaking in a few kisses at Merrin’s jaw.

A breathy laugh leaves her, and despite her protesting, Merrin angles her head to allow him further access to the smooth curve of her neck. “You are going to make me do things I regret, Cal Kestis.”

He grins against the crook of her neck, his voice a low purr. “I sure hope so.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparring, but make it suggestive.

In the course of their travels, Cal had seen Merrin in several lights.

He’d seen her in muted colors, the silver waves of her hair framing her face as they spoke quietly in the confines of his quarters aboard the ship.

He’d seen her in vivid ones, lips drawn back in a snarl, flickers of emerald dancing at her fingertips as they take on unwitting Imperial footmen.

He’d seen her in the warm, familiar setting of the main hull, chatting with Greeze and Cere with an occasional laugh, her expression softening when she glanced over at him in a way that sparks light in his chest.

However, he’d never seen her this way.

Emerald plasma, as vivid as the energy she was able to conjure, cast the right side of her face in intense profile. Her stance is unusual, an odd mesh of classic and something he isn’t able to pinpoint with his limited combat studies. This marks the first time Cal has offered to spar with her and, already, he is useless.

It had been Cere and Merrin’s idea, rather than his. Merrin had been clear that she had no intentions of following the Jedi path as he and Cere had done, a decision Cal both understands and fully respects. He was very surprised, however, to learn that she intended to construct a lightsaber.

“Are you sure?” Cal had asked quietly, when they’d gotten a moment alone. “That’s what they used in your home, when…”

“I know. But it is a tool, Cal.” He perhaps imagined that she seemed to be steadying herself as much as him. “A tool which may be practical.”

For Cal and other young Jedi, constructing a saber was a sacred rite, a marking of passage. For Merrin, it was a task to be fulfilled. Obtaining a Kyber crystal was a lengthy process (she hates the cold, and when Cal playfully threw a clump of snow at her, she refused to speak to him for about half an hour.) He gave her full use of his workbench and she spent hours bent over the small table, melding together different materials he’d collected over the months. The finished project was far from traditional, but incredibly reminiscent of Merrin. The metal is a reflective chrome, with a rustic leather handgrip cinched at the sleeve. A charm dangles from the end, a single elongated talon curving outward. The very base of the saber is constructed from a piece of claw that Cal suspects came from the same bat-creature he had been locked into combat with.

When he’d asked the significance of the charm, she’d smoothly raised a brow at him, lips curving into a smirk. “Power.”

(The pursuit of power is not the way of the Jedi, but there’s a distinct flutter in his stomach from the way she says it.)

However well constructed, a saber is only as effective as the person who wields it. Cal was half expecting her to ask him to offer instruction, but was still flattered when she approached him. He was quick to explain he wasn’t a master by any means, to which Merrin had only frown at him and stated, very plainly, “I saw you fight Malicos.”

Which, he supposed, was fair enough.

Now, though, he’s entirely useless. 

“Are you afraid to attack me, Kestis?” 

The amused grin on Merrin’s face only makes things worse, somehow. His jaw tightens and the blue light from his saber wavers for a moment. “Normally you don’t start sparring with live sabers. It’s kind of dangerous.”

Her dark eyes flash with humor. “You are afraid.”

Despite his predicament, Cal has enough pride left to settle into a fighting stance, wrist rolling in a professional flourish. “You wish,” he replies, before executing a feint to her right, intending to prompt a parry.

Instead, Merrin vanishes.

In a movement so quick that Cal blinks and misses it, she reappears directly behind him. It’s only thanks to his quick reflexes that he’s able to direct his saber directly behind his right shoulder. A humming buzz envelops his arm as their sabers clash.

Cal smirks. “That’s cheating, Merrin.”

Her voice is a low purr, directly in his ear and raising the hair on the back of his neck. “Improvise, then.”

This time, he feels the warp of energy as Merrin vanishes again. This time, he’s more prepared. The duel commences as soon as Merrin re-appears.

The same ferocity and determination to win at any cost is lost here, as neither are out for blood. But there is still an edge, that drive of competition that guides Cal’s hand as blue strikes green. He discovers quickly that Merrin’s style is all about evasiveness-she hangs back, twists just beyond his reach until he has overstepped his balance, and then she strikes again. Cal’s dynamic, acrobatic style is being used against him, and it’s easy to see how.

He switches, and a twist of his saber divides it into two blades, one in each hand. If Merrin insists on being chased, then he’ll bring the fight to her.

Now, they are evenly matched. Cal is afforded extra reach with his twin sabers, and Merrin’s flashstepping can no longer catch him completely off guard. His years of practice begin to show.

Cal’s movements are all connected, one following the other. Merrin still holds her own, though the narrowing of her eyes betray her exertion. Confidence lends something of a swagger to Cal’s fighting, and he even lets one saber leave his hand, indenting to catch it, potentially to show off.

…..It’s a mistake.

The flashy move gives Merrin the opening she’s been waiting for. In a fluid movement, he feels her free hand clamp onto his wrist before he can catch his weapon, and the momentum sends his arm pinned against the wall near his head. There’s a quiet, disappointing clink of metal as his saber half hits the ground, plasma winking out.

His eyes widen the green blade hovers just below his jaw, not close enough to hurt him, but the proximity is enough to make it clear who the winner is. The smug expression on Merrin’s face is equal parts infuriating and exhilarating.

“Were you trying to impress me?”

Cal offers a crooked grin. “Did it work?”

There’s a quiet zipping sound as Merrin’s saber winks out, the metal hilt clicking onto her belt once more. Her hand, however, has not left his wrist. The other one reaches up to tilt his chin downward. The fact that they are mere inches away from each other, still breathing hard from exertion, is not lost on him.

“You are aware of what generally happens when a Nightsister encounters a Jedi in this position?” 

His gaze flickers downward towards her lips. “Does she give him a kiss to make up for it?”

Her demeanor, previously assured and confident, falters. He sees a genuinely amused smile creep into the otherwise flirtatious smirk.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Encouraged, Cal clips his own saber to his belt and tucks his arm around her waist. “Because last time I was in the archives, I’m pretty sure there was a case where-“

Merrin is visibly trying not to laugh. “No. No, there is no instance where-“

“There is, it’s stated very clearly in the Jedi Code.” He sneaks his wrist out of her grasp to tug her closer. “When a Nightsister bests a Jedi in Combat-“

Merrin is full on laughing now, and her forehead drops against his chest. “This is _not correct_.”

“No, she gives him a kiss, it’s tradition.”

“It is _not_.”

Cal ducks his head to peck her on the nose. “You’re not honoring tradition, Merrin.”

Her hand rests just beneath the pendant of his necklace. “I do not have to honor this made up story-“

“Where’s the kiss, Merrin? Inquiring minds want to know-“

When she does kiss him, it’s to shut him up. He feels her smile against his lips. When they seperate, it’s so she can tuck her head into the crook of his neck for a moment.

The silence is blissful. She presses a quick kiss to his pulse point before speaking again.

“I will need to ask Cere to instruct me. You are far too distracting.”

“.....I guess that’s fair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Merrin should have a lightsaber and I cannot be talked out of this. Also, she absolutely tops. I will not be taking constructive criticism.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrin and Cal return to Dathomir in an effort to set things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE note that I am flying by the seat of my pants when it comes to Dathomirian culture. I made up most of the cultural details. But this is an especially long chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

The deep crimson of Dathomir is vivid even on the fuzzy projection of the ship’s Holotable, almost slowing against the backdrop of stars. Though he has been there twice before, Cal feels a sense of foreboding as he locks in the coordinates, confirming their next destination. Greez is still shooting him reproachful looks from the ship’s cockpit, silently trying to impose on Cal that they go literally anywhere else. He has to swallow a chuckle as he turns back to face the orange sofa, where Merrin is busy contemplating the half-moon relic she carries with her. Well, not a relic, he corrects himself-it’s a talisman, she’d told him that.

Despite having been...Well, something significant with Merrin for several months, Cal still feels hesitant about broaching the topic. “...You’re sure you’re alright to go back?” He asks softly. Across from him, Merrin looks up from her talisman, seeming as uncertain how to react to his gentleness still as he is to present her with it. “After everything that happened there...I understand if you aren’t ready.” He understands all too well, in fact. After his first experience on Dathomir, his first impulse was to never again go near the Tomb of Kujet, nor the ghostly, hatred-filled vision of his master which lurked there. Being alone there as a child faced with the task of burying countless dead, a task which must have taken years...Cal can’t imagine.

The echoes of tragedy linger in Merrin’s expression as she considers his offer. Her eyes drift from his to her hands. His first instinct is to take them, but Cal settles on taking a seat beside her instead. Merrin’s culture-and, subsequently, the way she shows affection-are different from his, and he has no wish to impede on her space.

“I do not fear anything on Dathomir,” Merrin begins, words thoughtful and deliberate. “It is my home. I fear what may take place there. I fear coming there and finding the Nightbrothers changed again, by some other Malicos. I fear finding the corpses of my sisters, wandering aimless, after I resurrected them without the knowledge to set them at rest again. I fear….” Her voice wavers dangerously and her arms tighten to fold against her chest. “I fear something happening to you.”

His chest aches, and Cal doesn’t resist the impulse to settle his bare hand on her shoulder, thumb absently running back and forth along the red fabric of her robes. “...I have a pretty good track record so far,” he offers, but the smile on the Nightsister’s face is more a reflex than a genuine expression. Faltering, he tries again. “....There’s no way to change things that have already happened. You and I know that. But I think...Now that you’ve seen so many other parts of the Galaxy, I think you’ll look at Dathomir a different way. It won’t be like….I don’t know, being…”

“Trapped,” Merrin finishes. After a moment or two, she reaches up to cover Cal’s hand with her own. Again, he finds himself fascinated by the starting contrast between them-her skin is almost the color of ivory, while his is tinged pink and littered with small white scars. “...No, you are right, Cal. There are things I need to put to an end. Things I have left unfinished.”

He smiles softly at her. “I’ll be there if you need me.”

Thankfully, when her eyes meet his, they carry her spark of humor that always seems to appear when talking with Greez. “It is more likely to be you needing my help, Cal Kestis. After all, you are the one who will be needing to hold council with the Nightbrothers.”

He blinks. “....I’m sorry, what was that?”

The crooked grin on Merrin’s face is almost certainly at his own expense. “You were planning on following tradition somewhat, yes?”

“I said I would if it was important to you, yeah, but-”

“Then you will announce your intent to form a union with me, and duel with all that challenge you, of course.”

“Duel?” He can almost feel himself starting to sweat. “You never said anything about-”

A low, full laugh leaves Merrin and she reaches up to pat his cheek. “You worry far too much, Cal. It won’t be to the death.”

…….He still isn’t entirely convinced she’s joking.

\------------  
It’s obvious upon their return how Merrin’s gaze fixated on the suspended pods hanging above the weathered structures of Dathomir, the thick quality of the air which he had at first chalked up to the Dark Side, but he now recognizes as a deep and unswaying grief. Subconsciously, Cal feels the weight of the saber clipped to his belt, the metal seeming heavier now than it had been before. 

“What was her name, again? The friend you lost?”

The smile on Merrin’s face is tinged with melancholy. “Illyana.”

Anxious to try and fill the silence that follows their walk, Cal speaks again. “What was she like?”

Merrin’s boots halt in the red clay, and her head tilts upward to regard one of the many burial pods above them. “....She was not like most of the other Nightsisters. She had ideas, ideas about going to different places and seeing different things. And she was very clever. The trouble we used to get into together…”

There’s no mistaking the fondness in Merrin’s voice, and Cal shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He isn’t shallow enough to call the feeling jealousy, but it’s...An awkward feeling. Illyana was something deeply important in Merrin’s life that came long before he did, something he would perhaps never fully understand.

“...You miss her,” he says. It is not a question. In response, Merrin sighs and reaches out a hand to him, which he steps forward to take.

“I do. But she is gone, now. She has been gone for a very long time.”

Cal squeezes her hand. They continue walking, silent for the most part. The planet seems very empty compared to the last time he had been here. The sky above them is tinged a faint red that reminds him of dried blood, the sun beaming scarlet and casting everything in a reddish tint. The black markings on Merrin’s face are even more distinct, while Cal’s hair seems to blend into his surroundings.

He smells the reanimated dead before he sees them, a strong scent of must and old flesh tinged with the strange, almost metallic crackle of residual Magik. Reflex guides his saber to his hand, blade illuminating in a light, sky-blue that contrasts sharply with the red sunlight. However, Merrin lifts a hand to stop him.

“I will handle this. Stay here.”

He’s reluctant to obey, but the plasma soon winks out of sight even as the metal hilt remains in his hand. Merrin walks forward alone, and soon, the shambling corpses of her sisters come into view. 

Now that they aren’t attacking him, Cal can see the remnants of the wounds which had ended their lives-charred tissue, remnants of where flesh and vital organs must have once been. He was aware of how quickly a saber could end a life. He hopes, for Merrin’s sake, that their deaths were not painful.

Merrin approaches one dead Sister, reaching a hand upward to rest against her wasted cheek. She says something in a language Cal doesn’t speak. Gradually, the dead sister begins to disintegrate away-first tendrils of hair, then ratted clothes, then the whole body. She becomes a cloud of dust, joining to coat the planet’s surface.

One by one, Merrin addresses each of them. It’s never the same phrase she utters, always something different, spoken in her native tongue. Cal becomes aware that he is watching a funeral, and tucks his saber away in respect. Then, he begins to understand more of what Merrin must be saying. The words she utters sound like names, and in a jolt, he realizes she is addressing each one by name individually. Somehow, after a lifetime of decay, Merrin is able to recognize each and every one of them. 

His eyes sting with the sudden threat of tears, which he quickly blinks away.

Cal sinks down to his knees on the sandy ground, taking a seat as Merrin continues her ritual. His head bows. This is a sacred thing, something outsiders were not meant to be observing. He can only liken it to a single Jedi funeral he has ever seen, when he’d still been a youngling. That had been their lesson through the attendance. He could still recall watching the flames dance, growing higher and brighters as they consumed the body of the fallen Jedi Master.

“You see?” One of the older Masters had said, settling a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “Death is not an end. It is a transition.”

Here, though, he does not feel any joy in witnessing Merrin say goodbye.

The sound of a quiet sob causes Cal to lift his head. It has taken some time, but Merrin must have finished-she is standing by herself in a posture that he recognizes-shoulders drawn stiff, half hunching over. It’s the same way he had looked when he’d forced himself to keep standing, after the escape pod had crashed on Brocca.

He does not ask permission, only rushes to his feet and holds her tightly. Merrin’s hands are fists in the fabric of his poncho, her entire body seeming to shake with each sob. Though so many years have passed since the massacre here, the pain is still as sharp and debilitating as it had been when Merrin was a child. It’s something Cal knows. Something he’s been through.

“You took care of them.” Cal murmurs, stroking her hair with one hand. “You did all you could do. They know that.”

It’s the only thing he can think to say.

It seems to take an eternity for Merrin’s tears to stop. Cal doesn’t mind waiting-patience is one of the few Jedi teachings he has not had to surrender in the name of survival. She doesn’t let go of him even after she stops crying, and he doesn’t either.

“Thank you for being with me, Cal.” Merrin manages, her voice muffled against his poncho.

Cal’s answer is a quiet promise. “Always, Merrin.”

\-----------

The entrance to the sprawling village of the Nightbrothers is more than a bit intimidating. Cal was quick to recall a few not-so-pleasant memories of the place, mostly centered around the first time he had encountered Dathomir. They had been fierce and powerful warriors, leaving Cal having to signal for a stim quite a few times before he had managed to fight them off. He had not been anxious to come back after that, and he still wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful about his return.

“...Merrin, you were kidding about the duel thing, right?”

Beside him, Merrin chuckles under her breath. “Partially. You have met the Nightbrothers before. You should know their ways by now, at least a little.”

“Something like that.” Cal’s hand flexes involuntarily, recalling all that he had felt when he had sense a few of the scattered echoes within the Nightbrothers’ domain. They were subservient to Merrin, he knew, so he wasn’t worried about being besieged from all sides-but they were ruthless. Cal wasn’t exactly the most imposing looking-figure, either.

“With luck, you will not need to say anything. In fact, it is better if you do not.” Maybe it’s his imagination, but Merrin seems a tad on edge the closer they get to the village entrance. Already, Cal can see two Nightbrothers standing guard just outside of it. At the sight of him, one draws back an electrified bowstring, and the other bares a row of sharp and jagged teeth. The fact that he is not holding a weapon doesn’t make Cal feel better. That only meant that the man was perfectly comfortable killing with nothing but his bare hands.

Merrin raises a palm, shouting something in Dathomiri. As she comes into view, both Nightbrothers are quick to lower their weapons. 

“Nightsister,” the archer says, eyes cautiously downcast. The reverence in his voice isn’t imagined-it’s obvious to Cal who is in charge.

“How goes your watch, Brother?” Merrin inquires.

“Fair. Only a few Nydraks, which we have killed for hides.” Despite his posture, the archer’s gaze still flickers to Cal, narrowing in a hatred which Cal senses radiating off in waves. “Forgive my questioning, Nightsister, but why have you returned with the Interloper? He is not of Dathomir.”

Merrin’s eyes narrow. “You are right to ask forgiveness for such a question. It is not to your approval whom I decide accompanies me.”

The authoritative tone in Merrin’s voice is entirely new. Cal’s eyes widen, especially when the Nighbrother-who was at least twice as muscular as Cal could ever manage to be-cowers in response.

“I ask for your forgiveness, Nightsister.”

Merrin lets the silence hang, and for a moment Cal wonders if she’s going to kill the guard in order to simply set an example. However, she soon speaks again. “It is given, brother. The Interloper is called Cal Kestis. It is he who slew Malicos. This is proof enough of his ability, and you will give him the respect he is owed for it.”

This time, the Nightbrother turns to regard Cal directly. Cal’s eyes are still wide, especially as the Nightbrother hinges at the waist and gives him a low, deep bow.

“Cal Kestis. I would be honored to know your strength.”

Cal blinks. “...Oh. Uh. Sure.”

The reaction is very strange. The other Nightbrother immediately begins to glance between the two of them, while Merrin seems to be about to interrupt before thinking better of it. The Nightbrother who Cal addressed, however, gives a surprised but delighted grin, gangs gleaming.

“The usual manner, then?”

….He’s said something very wrong. Cal turns wordlessly to Merrin for help, and only finds her watching the two of them with barely contained amusement.

“Ah...Usual?”

The Nightbrother nods. “An hour beforehand to prepare, and ending at first blood.”

It’s only then that it clicks. Knowing his strength...This Nightbrother has just invited Cal to fight him. And Cal, like an idiot, just accidentally accepted.

“I, uh...Well, hold on, maybe-”

Cal pauses midway through stammering an excuse. The Nightbrother, who had just been sizing him up, is staring openly at his neck. For a second, Cal wonders if he’s about to sink his teeth right into the jugular, before he realizes Merrin’s necklace is still around his neck.

In front of him, the Nightbrother bows deeply once again. “It will be my greatest honor to share a battle with the Nightsisters’ Favored. Thank you, Cal Kestis.”

“Favored..?” Cal looks helplessly from the Nightbrother, to Merrin, and then back again. Merrin actually lifts a hand to muffle a snicker.

This visit is not going entirely the way he’d hoped.  
\--------

“Hold still.”

It’s easier said than done. The dark paint leaves a cold trail against his skin where Merrin brushes down his bare arm. The paint itself is an earthy-smelling concoction, derived from a mix of crushed charcoal and Rancor blood. Thankfully he’s not about to be permanently tattooed, which would be a process even more painful than the duel he’s about to partake in. The markings themselves are more ceremonial than anything else, a statement of equality between himself and the Nightbrothers.

“Why am I doing this, again?”

Merrin scoops more of the black ink from the bowl, applying a dark stripe down his chest. “It’s a kind of greeting here. A way to….Make friends, you might say.”

“By beating the tar out of each other.”

The left corner of Merrin’s mouth slants upward. “When one of you starts bleeding, the fight will end. You will not die, Cal Kestis. For one thing, the Nightbrothers know it would make me angry.”

It’s a reassuring statement, but only slightly. Cal’s mind wanders to Greeze, still aboard the Mantis. Even for the pilot’s intense fear of Dathomir, Cal still figures he would take a front row seat for something like this.

“You will not be permitted a lightsaber,” Merrin adds, gaze flickering to the metal hilt on Cal’s belt. “It would give you an unfair advantage.”

He’s reluctant to surrender it, but can easily understand why he would be expected to. “Well, you’ll take care of it for me, right?” he asks, unclipping the weapon and holding it out to her.

Merrin is exceptionally careful about taking it, placing the bowl of paint down in order to accept the saber. “It will be waiting for you,” she says, before attaching the hilt. “As will I.”

With that, she returns to the task at hand. Cal is a little eager to fill the silence. “Hey, Merrin? What exactly did he mean by me being favored?”

The smile that comes to Merrin’s face is uncharacteristically soft. “You are my favored one, Cal. That is why I gave you this,” Her finger taps the pendant of the necklace. “So it is known.”

It’s along the lines of what he was expecting, but still very sweet. “So, like a kind of engagement ring or…?”

Merrin’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I don’t know all that much about it,” Cal admits, “But on Brocca, when you liked someone enough that you wanted to stay with them, you would give them jewelry or something like that. You know, like a marriage thing?”

“Marriage…” Merrin pronounces the word slowly. “I do not think we have this on Dathomir. Here, if there is someone you like, you simply tell them. There is not any ceremony for it. It is enough that the two of you know.”

Cal gives a slow nod. “....You’re right. It’s enough.”

“Yes. And you are finished, also. Stand.”

The air in the village is noticeably colder than it is outside, being shielded from the sun’s heat. It doesn’t help that Cal is going into this fight bare-chested. Dimly, he wonders whether the Nighbrothers have naturally warmer blood-he’s never seen one with a shirt on. 

A few feet in front of him, Merrin pauses to admire her handiwork. Cal thinks he must look fairly ridiculous, but she gives a slow nod of approval. “You are ready.”

Cal shrugs, offering a tense grin. “All striped up and no place to go, huh?”

Merrin’s footsteps are audible in the otherwise empty room as she approaches him. “It does not look so bad on you,” she comments, dark eyes raking almost lazily up and down his torso. He can feel his face heating up in response, even though this is certainly not the first time she’s seen him shirtless. She reaches up to hold the pendant of the necklace she gave him before gently tugging him down for a kiss.

One palm finds her waist as Merrin’s fingers curl at the hair at the back of his neck. The kiss isn’t very intense, but it’s slow and lingering, and his lips are buzzing when she draws back.

“Was that for anything in particular?” Cal breathes.

Merrin smirks. “Luck. You may need it.”

_________

He does, as it turns out.

The arena of the Nightbrothers is nothing like the gambling arena he was trapped in by Greeze’s debtors. For one thing, it’s far smaller than the gambling arena, probably because dueling between Nightbrothers isn’t really a spectator sport. In fact, only a few Nightbrothers are sitting to watch the event-well, them and Merrin, of course.

Cal, for one, is already intimidated. Saber combat is his specialty, not hand to hand-in fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d fought someone using only his fists. Probably all the way back when he’d lived at the Jedi Temple and got into scuffles with the other younglings. And the Nightbrother who is currently circling him is in no way whatsoever a youngling.

Cal manages to sidestep the first blow, a sharp jab from the Nightbrother. It seems more like an experimental blow, attempting to gauge Cal’s fighting style. Cal figures acrobatics might serve well in his favor as he dodges the next blow, executing a backflip to attempt to dance away from the Nightbrother’s range.

Perhaps running wasn’t the answer-the Nightbrother’s eyes narrow in annoyance. Eventually, Call will have to square up and fight.

So he does-or at least tries to.

He catches the next punch in his gloved hand, and immediately finds himself struggling to keep his opponent’s arm stationary. The Nightbrother rivals Cal in sheer strength, but Cal is quick and light-he ducks a punch from the opposite fist and dances away again, managing to yank the Nightbrother’s arm and render him somewhat off balance. Cal’s kick lands square in the Nightbrother’s stomach.

The Nighbrother barely even registers the hit. It’s like having collided with a solid wall.

He’s back to the defensive, dust scuffing upward from the ground as Cal just focuses on avoiding a rain of blows. So far, he hasn’t been hit, but he’s not entirely sure how long he can keep that track record up. Ordinarily, he would simply reach out for the Force, but something tells him that would be considered cheating in this instance.

Eventually, Cal spots an opening. His incessant avoidance has cost the Nightbrother precious energy, and Cal begins to counter with his own blows. His punches are sloppy and far from refrained, but one or two of them do hit. Again, the Nightbrother hardly even blinks. His culture is build for pain, embraces challenge and struggle. After ten minutes pass, Cal knows he is going to lose.

Still, he holds his own, buying himself time before he is mashed to a pulp. He dances out of the way of fists, but a well-timed kick sends him flying backward.

Yes, flying-his feet leave the ground as he soars backward. Blood gushes from his nose, which feels all at once both too hot and too cold. He lands hard on his back.

He’s bracing himself once he hears footsteps approach, but instead of a fist, he is met with an empty hand. The Nightbrother is offering to help him stand. Blinking and still dazes, Cal accepts and is hauled to his feet.

“You fought well, Brother.” The horned being grins in satisfaction, gripping Cal’s forearm, which causes him to wince. “Perhaps you will claim victory next time.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”  
_________

His nose finally stops bleeding about halfway through their walk back to the Mantis. Merrin had been concerned after he’d been knocked flat, but a quick examination determined that his nose wasn’t broken somehow. More of his famous luck, Cal supposed.

With the absence of the restless Nightsisters, the planet feels the same as it had when Cal had first stepped foot onto it-quiet. Beside him, Merrin is absently singing something under her breath in a language he doesn’t know.

“Are you glad we came back?”

She nods. “I am glad I was able to put my sisters to rest. They did not deserve to be wandering alone for so long.”

Offering a small smile, Cal considers another thing. “How exactly were you able to conjure them? Was it your talisman?”

“In a way.” Merrin stopped in order to remove the talisman from the pouch on her belt. “It is something through which I can better focus the magick. For larger rituals.” 

For a moment, Merrin looks at him as though she is considering something. Then, slowly, she holds the talisman out to him.

It’s the same feeling that Cal had when he’d offered her his lightsaber or the astrium, that feeling of vulnerability. He rests his hands beneath hers, taking a closer look at the object. It’s impossible to tell what it’s made of through just looking, maybe some kind of fractured rock. He meets Merrins eyes again. “Could I..?”

She nods firmly.

He takes the talisman from her palms like it might break at the slightest strength of grip. The texture is rough, almost like pumice. He can feel a strange current pouring through it, a focal point of energy that beats like a heart.

Cal doesn’t feel confident enough to hold it for very long, and returns it to Merrin. Still, the tenderness of the gesture is not lost on him, and his hands slip to rest beneath hers once again. “....Thank you, Merrin.”

The smile she gives him is soft, reserved, the one only he seems to be able to draw from her. “You are welcome, Cal.


End file.
